After landing, they split up to go through customs and immigration, meeting later at the luggage carousel.

"Any trouble?" He asked, watching for her bag to come down the chute.

"No. How did you get through so quickly?"

"Trade secret. That yours?" He pointed to the beige suitcase with the green ribbon on the handle. She nodded, and he lifted it off the conveyor for her. "I'll meet you outside."

Paula showed her customs form at the door and passed through to the arrivals lounge. She saw Chase leaning on the wall near the exit and hauled her bag over to where he stood. "How did you do that?"

"Years of crossing borders. Shall we go? Doc will have people here looking for us."

"How?" She puzzled, trailing after him and her bag.

"Your passport leaving St. Lucia." He hailed a limo and hustled her inside.

Chase paid the limo driver, waiting until it was out of sight, then he led Paula down into the subway, ignoring her questions, and ushering her onto the train when it arrived.

"Don't tell me, evasive procedures." She frowned at her reflection in the window glass.

"You remembered." The chuckle irked her.

"And where are we going? I'd like to get home and have a shower and a change of clothes."

"You won't be going home, Paula. Guess you need another watering." The hard dig in his side actually hurt, and he said so. "Your place and mine will be watched, and if you stop and think a minute, you'll realize that. We're hotelling it again." The exasperation was evident in the sound of sucking teeth and the set of her jaw. "We have the advantage at the moment, Doc can't cover every place in a city this size, and if we don't do anything stupid . . ." the pause was noted with another scowl, "we'll hang onto it."

Exiting the subway, he steered her to the bus rank and she finally conceded, allowing him to guide her without resistance.

******

Emile Regan swore and slammed down his landline phone receiver. He growled aloud at the empty study in his home, visions of the potential grief the failure of his team left, parading past his eyes. He reflected on how it all began and his initial choice of Dane Chase as a solution. Now two years plus later, and that decision was more of a problem than ever.

He allowed venomous thoughts of Sanford Whitthall into his head, and how he had joined forces with his niece to thwart the Rytex project. In retrospect, his decision to have her removed had been based on expediency rather than rationality, and look what that had wrought. As well, the outcome had left Whitthall bulletproof . . . until it hadn't.

The phone jangled and he glared at it then snatched it up. "Yes."

"Regan, Major Mark Steadman."

Emile swivelled slowly in his chair, elbows on the desk. "Yes, Major?"

"Disturbing word has reached us that the Rytex business has resurfaced. I'm sure you are aware that the military cannot be connected in any way with the acquisition of certain material."

"What word, Major?"

"That's classified."

"What - word - Major." Emile pressed the receiver hard against his ear.

"Let me just say, ASIC has more than one division."

The Canadian All-Source Intelligence Centre Emile cursed under his breath. "Why would they be talking to you about Rytex?"

"Because our respective militaries have different divisions, Doc."

The reference to his CIA title rankled, and he gritted his teeth. "I think I can assure you, Major, you won't be connected in any way."

"Think? Our preference would be a definite no."

"Well, when I have one I'll be sure to let you know." Again the receiver was slammed down. "Bastards."

Doc stood and paced his study, going over what he had. Paula Regan had left St. Lucia on air Canada flight AC4873, arrived Pearson. Cleared customs. Departed with male companion in limo. Trace was ongoing. Male companion – Dane Chase, dollars to doughnuts. How the hell had he sneaked back into the country? He went to the phone again, this time making a call.

"Corbett. Get Deware and meet me at rendezvous Banjo in one hour."

******

"How de jávù, a motel." Paula sat on the bed, legs crossed and hands supporting her on either side. "I hope this isn't long term."

"Believe me, if I have to listen to your constant whining, it won't be."
"Of all the nerve!"

"You sound like you did two years ago!" He checked out the window and then sat on the sill. "The situation is similar, Paula. Doc wants us dead, and I am doing everything I can think of to prevent that happening."

"But we can't just keep running and hiding forever," irritation crept into her words, "I have a position I need to return to - people who depend on me."

"Hey," he stood and walked to the bed, looking down at her, "you have the same option you had last time. You want to go back to work, your home - be my guest. Accept the consequences. I can take care of myself a lot easier without baggage."

The ultimatum, while threatening, held a measure of reserve . . . a kind of concerned sympathy that wasn't there the last time, and she shifted onto the bed, her back to him. This could not all be happening again - and yet here we are. She felt the mattress sag and a gentle hand on her shoulder, and the tears came.

******

Rendezvous Banjo was in the garden court of L'Espresso Bar Mercurio in a busy part of downtown. The three men drew no more notice than any of the other office workers on a coffee break, huddled, and chatting quietly.

"They are both back here in Toronto, I'm positive. Chase wants me as much as I want him." Doc rotated his mug of latte on the metal table. "So far, he's winning."

"I heard. All three of them." Corbett stated.

"Yes." The word was bitten off. "I warned them not to underestimate him. Not to mess around, just do the job."

"So now what?" Deware, the third member asked.

"I have lines out to every possible source. CCTV from the TTC subway cameras picked them up boarding a south bound train at St George, and that was the last sighting."

"They didn't get off?" Deware made a doubtful snort.

"Cameras show nothing. They could have stayed on and left the line anywhere." Doc tapped his spoon on the table. "I've had sources scouring taxis, Ubers, buses and streetcars, hotels, motels. Nothing." The tapping stopped. "We have to keep looking and be ready for his first move."

Corbett sat back, prepared to object, then looked around and leaned forward again, objecting in muted tones.

"Like some carnival shooting gallery? No thanks, Doc."

"He doesn't know either of you, that's why I called you both."

"Unless he has eyes on us right now." Corbett complained.

"He hasn't had time. He's good but he's not that good. The Chase I know will have found a safe house. He needs time to prepare, that's why the sooner we locate him the better our chances."

"That's not an easy call. Even with all your people monitoring communications."

"He'll reach out to someone. Chase had his own network, and when he does . . ." he mimed a gun firing with his fingers.